


After The Night

by moonix



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew is so gay, Boys In Love, Domestic, Feels, First Times, M/M, Morning After, Softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/pseuds/moonix
Summary: The morning after a first time.





	After The Night

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my [Tumblr](https://annawrites.tumblr.com/) :)

The morning after is comfortably quiet.

Andrew drags himself through the motions of getting up and packs their things while Neil is in the bathroom, then stands in the kitchen with a mug of coffee pressed to his cheek for warmth, staring out of the window and replaying the events of last night in his head, examining them from all angles until he's satisfied that things went reasonably well. They might do it again, even. If Neil is willing. He might be willing. (Andrew hopes he's willing.)

“Ready?”

He looks at Neil, loose and smiling in the doorway, wearing one of Andrew's t-shirts without shame. For a moment he doesn't want to leave – it's a Sunday, just the two of them in the house in Columbia; they could go back to bed and order some food later, watch one of those crappy quiz shows that Neil gets ridiculously into, or go for a walk and look for the cat they found wandering the neighbourhood yesterday, the one that almost followed them home.

Shoving those thoughts away, Andrew rinses out his mug and grabs their bag before following Neil out to the car. There's a bite in the air, the first teeth-baring of fall, and Neil huddles down in the passenger seat with his arms crossed over his chest and sighs when Andrew turns on the heating. He switches through the radio stations as they pull out of the driveway, flicking aimlessly between pop, country, jazz and club music. After a while he settles on a crackly old rock'n'roll station, the one that Andrew sometimes listens to when he's on his own because the ancient host has a surprisingly pleasant, soothing voice, dusty and worn like old library books, and the music isn't half bad even if Andrew would never admit it out loud.

Neil nestles his head in the crook of his elbow and dozes off, doing a bad job of hiding his smile from Andrew, and Andrew grabs a toffee from the bag next to his seat and keeps his eyes on the road, squinting slightly in the haze of bright early morning sunlight.

_Look at us, Bee_ , he thinks mockingly. _Aren't you proud?_

They arrive at the court just in time for the extra practice Neil insists they need and Andrew gets their bag while Neil totters sleepily inside on unsteady legs. He gets a warm welcome from Robin in the lounge and Andrew continues on into the locker room, ignoring Nicky's eyebrow-waggling and invasive questions on the way. The cool silence of the still empty locker room settles around him like a grounding weight, though it doesn't last long before the others come filing in with their chatter and laughter and noise.

For a little while Andrew just sits on the bench by his locker and stares at the wall. His attention slides off everything around him like magnets repelling each other, but it's drawn to the door the moment Neil enters, the south to his north.

Neil looks awake and alert now, though he still walks in a slightly off way, like there are rocks in his shoes or he's still regaining his balance after someone's shoved him. Andrew frowns, watching his progress through the room until he reaches the spot next to Andrew and starts entering his combination in the locker.

“Neil.”

“Hmm?”

Andrew's mouth tastes sour. He waits for Neil to look up and meet his eyes, one hand gripping his other arm, the press of his sheaths against his skin both a comfort and a cold reminder. Finally, he grits out: “Are you hurt?”

Neil looks puzzled for a moment before giving himself a quick once-over to check.

“No,” he says slowly. “Why?”

Andrew's teeth are sticking together even though the toffees are long gone. He has to fight to work them open and the words are hard and splintery like old caramel: “Last night...”

“Oh,” Neil breathes, eyes flicking briefly to the rest of the room. No one is listening to their quiet conversation, but the mere possibility of them overhearing makes Andrew's skin crawl too. “No, Andrew, no. That's not... You didn't hurt me.”

He sits down next to Andrew and slides close, hands clasped tight in his lap. He looks sheepish and checks once again that no one is paying attention before leaning in and putting his mouth right next to Andrew's ear. Then he whispers: “I can still... feel you. Inside me. But it doesn't hurt, it's just... weird. In a good way. I promise, okay?”

The ice in Andrew's stomach seems to straight up evaporate into steam. Neil's ears are pink when he moves away and his eyes are darting around, looking anywhere but at Andrew, who can feel his own neck heating up traitorously. He hates how responsive he's become to Neil, how easily this broken boy can make him feel these days. But then he sees the bloom of a tiny, secret smile on Neil's lips just before Neil whispers, “I liked it,” like it's some kind of momentous revelation for him, and maybe it  _is_ – maybe it is for Andrew as well, who hadn't realised how badly he needed to hear those words out loud until Neil said them.

Neil  _liked_ it.

And Andrew did that – he made it good for Neil. He thinks. He kind of wants to go up to the rooftop and examine this shiny new morsel of knowledge all by himself, cradle it close to his chest and protect it, allow himself a moment of indulgence before he is inevitably forced to let it go again.

He could blow off practice and take Neil back to the dorm, or better yet, to Columbia; keep him in bed all day and repeat what they did last night, just even slower, more careful, more drawn-out; make sure Neil feels Andrew inside him all of next week, too.

But Neil is captain this year and far too much of a junkie still to skip out on practice with him. With a slow, measured sigh Andrew puts his hand on the back of Neil's neck and reels him in, briefly touching their foreheads together.

“Me too,” he mutters instead, the words still sticky but easier; hot and gooey like toasted marshmallows. He swallows down the soft bulk of them and opens his eyes to find Neil lost and staring at his mouth. “Later,” he says, a promise and a question, low enough that he isn't sure if Neil even heard, but Neil's eyes flutter back up to his and he swallows visibly.

“Later,” he echoes, and they move apart at the same time, both taking a moment to catch their breaths before turning to their lockers to get changed.

 


End file.
